Imagine
by Moonstar00125
Summary: Your name is Roxanne Ritchi. Welcome to Hell.


It was a habit of one Roxanne Ritchi to make heroes of the villains around her, like that short boy in middle school named Dexter, with his oh-so-annoying sister, Dee Dee serving as his eternal antagonist. It had taken a while, but with an open heart, some stellar investigating skills, and a call to CPS, Dexter had found himself on a brighter path.

Then a year later, Roxanne had befriended a boy named Bruno, who had taken to bullying the younger kids for no good reason. He'd been a tough nut to crack, but when he moved away at the start of High School, Roxanne truly felt she'd made a positive impact on his life.

And then, of course, there was everyone's favorite—Metro Man, the bully who really had a heart of gold and simply needed a little discipline and someone to care to realize his full potential.

And finally, her personal favorite, Megamind, the only one she'd actually dated. The only man she'd actually loved. He'd been her greatest piece of work—full-blow evil alien supervillain turned full-blown perfect super(anti)hero—and she might as well mark down Minion and the various bots as well. After all, had she not helped him turn over a new leaf, they'd still be evil, too.

See, Roxanne was good at all that. She was excellent, the _best._ No one could turn a villain like her. And the best part? It _stuck._

So imagine her surprise when the night after she left Megamind in the rain, she found out Metro Man had abandoned his stance as hero and turned into a non-malicious form of villain. But she could deal with that. She could deal. It was OK—he wasn't evil or anything.

And imagine the way her fingers curled when, walking with Megamind in the park, she watched as a grown Bruno, somehow returned to Metro City, chased a much smaller man in a tux with fists raised, ready to smite the new groom and steal his bride away. But she could get past that. She could turn a blind eye and focus on the man at her side.

And imagine her horror the week after she broke it off with Megamind when she turned on the news to find out that sweet little Dexter with the beautiful mind and misunderstood past had turned into a psychopathic murderer. This she couldn't handle, and it brought her to tears.

And imagine the look on her face when just a week after that a pale, gaunt Megamind showed up on her doorstep, covered from head-to-toe in the blood of a victim Roxanne hoped to God she didn't know. Imagine how she cowered when he swept forward in his villainous attire, imagine how she screamed when he gripped her shoulders with shaking hands, how she sobbed as he stared blankly down into her eyes.

Imagine the way she broke as his lips trembled. Imagine the way the bile rose in her throat as he spoke. Imagine the way Death stroked her heart with icy claws as his voice, his quiet, accusing, shocked, broken, and terrified voice, shook with the weight of what he'd done. Imagine the blow to her ego when the words were, "you did this."

Imagine how the strength went out of her legs and she crumpled to the ground as he left her, a ghost, a phantom of a former self. Imagine the chill that ran up her spine when his cape swept over her, a veil, taking with it all the warmth that had ever been a part of her and pulling it with a soft artificial breeze down the hallway as Megamind headed in the opposite direction.

Imagine how she lay there, unable to deal with the blood that now coated her shoulders.

Imagine the shudder that ran through her as a shrill scream sounded down the hall.

Imagine the catch in her throat when it stopped.

Imagine how she curled up in the smallest ball she could manage at the hollow sound of a fleshy mannequin crashing into a hardwood floor.

Imagine the slow thud-thud-th-th-ud of the heavy misshapen ball taking its sweet time in becoming still.

And imagine the soft echoes of the whispers that had once been the footsteps of a great man, and now belonged to something barely alive.

Now imagine you are that woman. You are Roxanne Ritchi. And this is your Hell. The Hell you get for playing games. The Hell you get for crushing his fragile, scarred, all-too-broken, barely-beating heart. This is your Hell. This is your nightmare.

And imagine you tell yourself that. Imagine you lay there, your orifices leaking what remains of all your humanity, all your innocence, all your heart and soul-everything that made you what you are. Imagine you lay there, becoming a husk. Imagine you tell yourself it's just a bad dream, and when you wake up, Megamind will be there, smiling, grinning, holding you like you never left, loving you like you're the only thing in the world that's ever mattered. Imagine you tell yourself it's just a nightmare.

And then imagine you're wrong.


End file.
